Alibi
by YnitOcelot
Summary: Doyle loses his memory during an operation and Bodie tries to help him. Meanwhile there's a mole in CI5 and Doyle has no alibi... Not for profit, I don't own the characters.


The hoary twilight was the only illumination to the lonely house. It was run-down and badly needing a lick of paint which it was most certainly not going to get in this area of London. The fading day was only just sufficient that a casual observer (not that there were any of course) would have only seen the two figures if they had been looking for them. Using the shadows they crept up to the house; both silently praising the lack of working streetlamps. Slowly and carefully the pair moved until they were near the wall. The light drizzle had soaked them for nearly three-quarters of an hour. Doyle's drenched curls bounced around his face as he gestured quietly with his drawn weapon.

"You go in through the back." Bodie nodded, face completely expressionless. Swiftly he moved away with the soft noiseless tread of a hunter leaving his partner alone. Doyle blinked the water out of his eyes and laid a hand on the doorknob. His heart was thudding; he hadn't been back on duty long. Not since… he shook his head unintentionally. _Stop it_ he told himself, _just_ _focus on the_ _assignment. _Slowly and carefully he tested the door. Unlocked – he had been expecting that. Drawing back he readied himself, checked the safety on his gun and burst through the door.

The wooden frame was harder that Doyle had expected but he recovered quickly, rolling to the left so he was shielded from any potential bullets that could – and if they made contact would – tear him apart. No wild firing but there was a crash from upstairs. Bodie appeared beside him.

"I'll take the next floor." Doyle started moving hurriedly up the steps.

"Doyle!" He didn't stop.

"Yeah?"

"Just be careful," Doyle flashed him a grin.

"Same for you sunshine," Then he vanished out of Bodie's sight. Bodie would remember those words because that was last time Doyle would be Doyle for quite a while.

They got to work, efficiently checking the rooms. Bodie smashed open a few doors but in the third one he found something he hadn't been anticipating. One of the gang – he recognised him from his mugshot – was lying on the floor, blood pouring from a hole in his face. No need to check for a pulse; no one could survive a shot like that. With growing apprehension he looked into the next room. There were two slumped on top of each other. This wasn't good. The wounds were new; the killer was probably still in the house! All of a sudden he heard Doyle shout something.

"You!" Bodie sprinted out into the corridor and towards the stairs. He was expecting a gunshot but instead – as he was halfway onto the landing – his world turned red and orange.

Bodie's eyes flew open; he was on the bottom of the steps half covered in rubble. Choking on the dust he pushed himself into a sitting position. That's when the heat hit him. His blurry vision let him focus on one thing. _Fire. _He jerked away, animal instincts taking over in that one moment of scarlet terror before he clamped down on himself. He leapt less-than gracefully to his feet; his ears were still ringing from the aftereffect of the explosion. His first thought was to get out of the burning house but that was tossed away as he realised. The explosion came from upstairs – that's where Doyle was.

"Ray? Ray!" Coughing and almost bent double from the smoke he clambered up the stairs on his hands and knees.

Rubble and debris was scattered across the landing some being consumed by small fires, others not. Bodie's gaze swept desperately among the wreck searching for his friend. All of a sudden a memory pounced on him, his surroundings became horrifyingly familiar. Claire. His girlfriend Claire. In the restaurant, the flames everywhere, people screaming and crying, the heat and the panic, his own sense of dread… but Claire was alive, hurt, but alive. So was Ray. He urged his shaking legs forward into the mess. The acrid smoke stung his throat badly; Bodie was imagining it blackening until it was so thick with the gas that he wouldn't be able to breathe. He had to find Ray soon or else they were both going to die here; in the searing heat and choking smoke. He was pushing away the repulsive thought that was going through his head. _I could get out. I could save myself. _Angrily he swept away an obstacle harder than was necessary. What was he thinking?!

Suddenly he spotted a mass of dark curls dangerously close to a small fire. A small flickering flame reached out like a malevolent finger in search of more things to destroy. With a startled shout Bodie leapt towards it and kicked it away, the tiny embers scattered then started to smoulder. With a gasp he turned Doyle over and whispered a prayer of thanks. He was breathing. He was alive. Doyle's forearms were covered in burns; where he had most likely shielded himself from the blast as his face was relatively unscathed. These didn't look bad however. Next to the prone body there lay the shattered remains of the door. An eruption of heat from his left brought him harshly back to the task. Grunting he seized Doyle and hefted him across his shoulders in a fireman's lift. Doyle's head lolled onto his back. Bodie didn't know why but it worried him. Quickly, aware of the noxious gases, he hurried as fast as he could out of the house.

The fresh air tasted like manna from heaven. Fire engines roared in the distance as Bodie struggled across to his car with his burden which seemed to be getting heavier. Finally he carefully placed his friend inside the car and turned the key in the ignition. The car snarled into life. After quickly radioing base he eased his foot into the accelerator. The hospital wasn't far from here and he needed to be gone before any of the fire-fighters could start asking difficult questions.

He pulled over in a layby when he heard Doyle groan and stir in the back seat. Ignoring the light drizzle Bodie walked around to see what shape he was in.

"Hey are you alright, sunshine?" He wasn't sure what he was expecting, a weak joke or his normal scowl at being hurt again but the panic in Doyle's eyes made him step back.

"Who the hell are you?"

Bodie reeled.

"What do you mean mate? You know me! It's me! Bodie!" Doyle pushed himself up on his elbows and inched away from his team-mate until his back was against the door. The wariness had overtaken the anxiety.

"I've never seen you before. Where the hell am I?" Bodie frowned.

"In my car; don't you remember? There was an explosion –"

"Why am I in your car?" Too late Bodie saw his hand move towards the handle.

The speed with which Doyle took off was impressive considering the injury he'd just received. Bodie sprinted after him, determined to stop him from causing more damage to himself and luckily for him (maybe not so fortunate for Doyle) he keeled over about seven meters away. He was out cold by the time Bodie reached him. As he began to lift him again he noticed the blood and swelling on his friend's head.

"Blimey, you don't do things by half do you?" He muttered while he dumped him in the car. Getting back in Bodie caught a glimpse of his face in the wing mirror. He was covered in dust and cuts. No wonder Doyle had panicked, he looked pretty roughed up. Shaking his head he pushed the throttle.

"Mr Bodie?" Bodie jumped up from the uncomfortable chair in the waiting room; why must they be so sore to sit on for extended periods?

"Yes?" The doctor was a bespectacled man with fussy light brown goatee and a keen blue gaze. He looked apprehensively at the agent and asked;

"What happened?"

"We were on an operation; in this house, and there was an explosion, how is he?" He knew he probably wasn't making much sense but Bodie didn't like the atmosphere radiating off the man. The doctor fiddled with his glasses and continued his questions ignoring Bodie's impatience.

"Has Mr Doyle woken up at any point before? If so did he say anything?" Bodie stared at him.

"Why, is something wrong?" He angrily advanced on the man. "Is he in danger?"

"Answer the question Bodie." The agent started as Cowley's burr sounded from behind him. When had he got here?

"Sorry sir." He turned back to the white-coated man and recounted the events after the accident finishing up with a worried "he didn't seem to recognise me." Bodie thought it was best that he didn't mention Doyle's attempted flight; hopefully Doyle wouldn't remember it either. "Can I go and see him?" The doctor shot a quick look at Cowley and swallowed knowing that his news wasn't good.

"Physically Mr Doyle was very lucky –"

"And mentally?"

"I afraid that Mr Doyle has post-traumatic, retrograde amnesia." Even Cowley was taken aback. Bodie frowned and said;

"No he can't have…" But even he knew he was just trying to stop the situation, to erase the fact by denial. "He can't, no he'll be fine. He hasn't."

"Bodie…"

"No he can't, not now! C'mon doc, he can't!"

"I'm afraid we cannot deny it Mr Bodie, he's showing all the signs, we've checked-"

"Then check again!"

"BODIE!" Cowley glared at his agent as the doctor instinctively took a step back in the face of Bodie's outburst. He turned to the man and asked;

"Explain the situation please, Dr…?"

"Ryder. It appears that Mr Doyle has sustained a crack to his head as well as some minor first degree burns and cuts. He must have been at least partly shielded by something saving the rest of him."

"The door," Bodie nodded remembering the wooden devastation.

"When he came to he had no recollection of who he was, where he was born, all personal memories you see." Dr Ryder took his glasses off and continued. "His muscle memory is completely unchanged, if fact I'd be willing to bet that if you took him to training he would be able to operate with the exact skills that he has now!" Bodie leant in and asked;

"So he doesn't remember anything from before the explosion?" Dr Ryder inclined his head.

"Will he ever regain his memories?" Cowley was deep in thought. He didn't want to appear uncaring but he needed his top team in perfect working order to help crack down on that gang and to find out who the mole in CI5 was. Inside he gritted his teeth at the audacity of this unknown agent thumbing his nose at him with every scrap of information escaping to the gang. Not to mention the poor young agent ambushed and killed. The doctor smiled; glad at last, at some good news which hopefully would pacify Bodie enough to not shoot the messenger as he seemed rearing to do when he'd first announced the news.

"There is a ninety-seven percent chance that Mr Doyle will recover without any lasting damage, except perhaps a blank of the moment of the explosion and two to three minutes before. He passed out again while I talking to him but he should be fine. He is very lucky not to have been killed. We suspect that it will be a spontaneous recovery, perhaps a week or two from now, maybe even earlier." Bodie flashed a relieved grin.

"He's lucky in everything except poker."

Shouting woke Doyle. He brought his hand up to his face and with a slightly guarded expression took note of his surroundings. Hospital ward, he was lying on a bed, still fully clothed with a terrible headache. He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. One of the nurses noticed and bustled up in the typical way of nurses.

"Mr Doyle I don't think you should be getting up. You've had a nasty crack on the head." Confusedly Doyle raised his hand again and encountered a large bandage wrapped around his head.

"Wha'ppened?" The question was reflex more than anything else as the world spun briefly in a dizzying polychromatic kaleidoscope. He only just caught himself from slumping back into oblivion. He was vaguely aware of the nurse still chattering at him. He looked up at her with an appraising eye.

"What did you call me?" To her credit the nurse didn't seem fazed as she began industrially pumping a pillow from a pile ready to go on another bed.

"Raymond Doyle. That's your name." Her tone booked no argument, although why he might argue remained a mystery to him. With a sudden stab of fear he realised that mystery was the best way of describing his situation. As hard as he tried he couldn't remember a thing about himself. Or rather in a strange fuzzy way he knew them but they appeared to be under lock and key. Suddenly the door leading to the ward opened. Cowley strode in followed by a sheepish-looking Bodie. Not that Doyle recognised them of course, but Cowley got straight to the point.

"Here," he tossed Doyle's wallet to him and smiled privately at the ease with which his agent caught it. Motor functions unimpaired. Good. Doyle flipped it open, noting the worn leather from a life of usage. He didn't recognise the person inside or the large CI5 ID but he did see his name.

"We need you back on the case."

Bodie drove Doyle home that evening, rather relieved that he seemed a lot happier in his company than previously. Doyle was looking out the window at London with a funny, scrutinising gaze. But the wariness was still there. It reminded Bodie of when they'd first met. True they had both tried to kill each other during the training trying to be bigger and better but Cowley had still placed them as a team. He suppressed a smile. They hadn't really co-operated, being annoying and generally unruly but gradually had warmed to the idea of having the other one around. His internal grin widened. Then Doyle had saved his life. Then he had saved his. So on and so forth. Suddenly his hidden smirk disappeared. Doyle wasn't Doyle and he hadn't been for the last seven weeks or so. Not since… the incident. He has seemed preoccupied and distant. Without realising he shook his head.

"What's up?"

"Uh…" Bodie's mind whirred desperately. "Took the wrong turning."

"Ah." Even without memories Doyle was almost maddeningly astute. Bodie had to prevent himself from continually glancing over in his friend's direction. Ray was pale with slight shadows under his eyes but the… look had gone. Maybe the memory loss had some positive side effects. He pulled up outside Ray's flat and looked questioningly over at Doyle.

"Keys?" Doyle handed them over and Bodie let them in.

"What's with all the security?" Doyle asked looking intently at the call box.

"We're very good at making enemies," Bodie replied. Doyle gave him a puzzled smile trying to figure out whether it was a joke.

Bodie led the way into the flat.

"I'll pick up tomorrow right? Your car's still in the pool," He glanced around. Doyle had his head tilted to one side as he scrutinised himself in the mirror. It was as if he had never seen himself before. Bodie opened his mouth to say something teasing but it withered on his lips, for some reason he looked almost innocent, despite all the little things that built up in a job like CI5; the guilt and all the tiny scars in the mind had seemingly been wiped away. Then the tableau was broken as Doyle looked around. He glanced over at Bodie;

"Thanks… Bodie," he felt a swell of hurt as he watched Doyle struggled with his name. The awkward silence filled the room. He inclined his head but he couldn't stand the atmosphere any longer and pushed past his friend out into the hallway.

Bodie slowly opened the door to his new flat; his mind was still abuzz with the events of the last day and a half. It was bloody unfair that's what it was. Couldn't the universe cut Doyle a break? Couldn't it cut him one for that matter? A few weeks ago Doyle had nearly been killed. Now he had lost his memory. Both were weighing heavily on Bodie's mind, the first had been his fault and his fault alone. This time he should've stayed with his partner, made sure… he shook his head. _What happened happened and there's nothing you can do to make it un-happen _he told himself fiercely. _All you can do now is help in any way you can. _But as he shut off the light he still couldn't wash away the guilt that clung to him.

It was funny, Bodie mused, how at ease Doyle seemed to be with everyone. The strangeness of re-introducing Doyle to CI5 had been his first orders and he appeared to be taking this in his stride. It almost confounded him but then again Doyle was far more open than him.

"Who's that?" Doyle asked pointing a surreptitious finger over Bodie's shoulder. Before Bodie could answer one of the other agents they were sitting with, Jones, offered cheerfully;

"That's Clarke, Harvey Clarke. Doesn't have a partner, a bit of a loner to be honest." He glanced over at the swarthy man dressed in a smart jacket sitting apart from the other agents, who were laughing over the embarrassment of a team member, who had flushed so brightly Doyle was sure if you turned out the light he would be glowing. Clarke glanced casually around, his gaze lingering – if ever so briefly – on Doyle before moving on. He supressed an involuntary shiver, feeling like someone had just walked over his grave. Quickly he turned his attention back to the conversation. Murphy was teasing his partner of his failure of asking some girl out and Bodie was egging him on shamelessly. Doyle let the words wash over him, but he couldn't forget that almost accusing look. He was just being jumpy… right?

Filing was boring. Bodie couldn't even be bothered attempting to think up a more interesting adjective to describe it. Stifling a yawn he reached for another report, since Doyle hadn't yet been cleared for active duty they were stuck in here reading the meticulously written papers. Bodie felt that sitting in this dusty room couldn't be good for Doyle's (or his) lungs especially after the explosion. However Cowley had been insistent and now they were flicking and getting paper cuts in search of clues to connect the gang to some unsavoury business. The silence was getting to him, he missed the back-and-forth banter that the partners usually employed while doing this. Finally he could stand it no longer and asked;

"What do you remember?" Doyle mulled it over for a second and replied carefully.

"It's a bit fuzzy; I remember bits and pieces, like pictures, freeze-frames really, in my head. There's a shootout, near a river…" he trailed off wondering why he had just related all of this a total stranger. Bodie was in these memories. So he couldn't be a stranger. He sensed the hurt pouring off Bodie but it only made him feel more awkward.

Meanwhile Bodie was almost yelling; 'What about me? What do you remember about me?' He refused to believe how easily he could be forgotten, not when people had gone through so much. He opened his mouth to speak as the door burst open. It was Murphy and Jones followed by a skulking Clarke. None of them looked particularly happy and Bodie was shocked when Jones and Clarke grabbed Doyle's arms and pulled him upright.

"What the…" Bodie began.

"Doyle, we're arresting you on suspicion of being a mole," Clarke paused and continued breathlessly, "you have the right to remain silent; anything you say will used in a court of law…" A bit rougher than was necessary they started hustling the man out of the door. Stunned; Bodie didn't react for a moment, only snapping into action when Doyle began protesting. Murphy leapt forwards and held him back while he tried to go to Doyle's rescue.

"Bodie! Calm down!"

"Calm down? Where the hell are they taking Ray?" He renewed his struggles and Murphy hissed to him,

"To the interrogation cells. Look Bodie, I'm sorry but the evidence points to Doyle!" This caught Bodie's attention.

"What evidence?" Carefully Murphy released him.

"Doyle's fingerprints were found on some of the papers stolen a week or so ago as well as some of the glasses. They were discovered in an abandoned house."

"Let me guess," Bodie muttered, "anonymous tip off?"

"Yep, but it was backed up by a reliable source." He caught the look on Bodie's face and quickly added, "I don't believe it either but there's something funny going on." His face hardened and Bodie gave a curt nod. Someone had set Doyle up. But who?

Jones joined them at the table, his face set in a sheepish expression. The mood in CI5 was subdued to say the least as everyone contemplated the unlikely turn of events. He was almost physically taken aback by the dark expressions on the pair's faces.

"Sorry," he said, "I was only following orders." Murphy gave his partner a glance and muttered;

"It's alright Jones,"

"No it's not."

"But how could it be Doyle?" Murphy finished ignoring Bodie. "I mean do you really believe that Doyle could sell us out?" Jones shifted uneasily and muttered;

"He _has_ been acting funny lately…" Bodie clenched his jaw and growled,

"You know why."

"But…"

"No! Don't you dare! It can't be Doyle! He's loyal. He wouldn't sell us out!" Murphy carefully avoided his gaze. "No, don't tell me you think so Murph…" Murphy shrugged quietly and answered,

"We don't know for certain Bodie… I don't believe it but… he's got no alibi. With his memory gone he's the perfect scapegoat." Bodie's face grew longer at the last word.

"Bodie," Jones began casually, "will Doyle regain his memories?" Bodie nodded and turned away. "How long?"

"The doctors said a few days or weeks," he informed him.

"Bodie! In here," the not-so dulcet tones of Cowley suddenly rang out across the hall. Grimacing Bodie followed the order.

The office was currently being besieged by files on the gang, papers and photographs. Bodie hovered hesitantly by the door. Cowley looked up at him and removed his glasses. He gestured with them to the chair.

"Bodie sit down."

"Sir," Bodie didn't obey, instead he remained standing but moved closer to the desk. "Sir… I want to know –"

"Why Doyle was arrested?"

"Yes!"

"We found evidence in the house, it points to Doyle."

"Doyle hasn't gone rogue!"

"I don't believe it either Bodie, but we must take every precaution. Besides, if it wasn't Doyle it's for his own protection." The young man frowned at the last sentence.

"Sir?" He queried. Cowley ignored him and asked softly,

"Has Doyle been acting strangely lately?" He shuffled his feet and mumbled half-heartedly;

"No."

"No?"

"No." Cowley didn't look convinced but dropped his gaze back to the paperwork littering his desk.

"Doyle's been set up sir," Cowley fixed him with a stern gaze.

"By who man?" When Bodie didn't answer he continued, "Aye, that's what I thought. We can't clear Doyle's name until we find out who the spy is." By 'we' Bodie knew he meant 'you'. He stared hard at his boss. Cowley had again returned to the files. Without raising his head he asked in a sarcastic tone, "what are you still doing here?"

The interrogation cell was gloomy and bare, a table, a chair nothing else. Slightly nervous Doyle wondered over and sank into it. Checking his watch he realised with a jolt he'd been here an hour and a half already. Time flies when you're having fun, he reflected sourly. The cell was getting to him. It was disturbingly familiar. _At least this time I'm not tied down_ Doyle thought suddenly. Confused he attempted to search his memories for the cause of that idea. Where had that come from? It didn't matter he decided; what mattered was to try to remember anything – fast. His safety could well depend on it. With a sigh he closed his eyes and tuned out the world.

Bodie brooded in the corner of the VIP lounge, his fingers pinching his nose, he rifled through his brain in search of anything out of the ordinary. It certainly didn't help that a couple of the other younger agents were chattering like sparrows. However they were smart enough not to go near him. Abruptly something flashed into his memory. Clarke's hidden grin as he arrested Doyle, his interest in the comings and goings, his careful watchful gaze which always sent shivers up the agent's spine… it could be him! Who could he tell? He couldn't really relate all this to Cowley on gut instinct, _Murphy_. The answer was as smooth and clear as a pebble. He had been there when Doyle had been arrested; he'd understand! As if Murphy had been listening on his thoughts he appeared through the door with a preoccupied air about him. Bodie practically bounded over.

"Murphy," he hissed, "I need to talk to you," Murphy caught his urgent tone.

"What is it?" Murphy asked in the relative quiet of the next room, "Got an idea?" Bodie nodded and then proceeded to explain his suspicions to him.

"There is something funny about him…" he conceded carefully. "It doesn't mean he's the mole," he checked Bodie's disappointment and agreed, "I think we should talk to him." Bodie brightened and quickly ran back to the lounge. He groaned. Clarke was gone.

"Where'd he go?" Bodie asked the room at large. Uncertainly one of the agents, Leon, offered;

"He took a call on his radio, said it was urgent." Bodie ground his teeth then shot out the door.

"Where would he go?" Murphy asked from the passenger seat. Bodie shrugged and turned back to the driving.

"He can't have gone far," he explained. Murphy brought him firmly back to reality.

"Bodie it's been an hour, he could be anywhere!" Cowley's orders to find him and bring him into custody had been stern but the pair was almost ready to admit defeat. He wasn't around his usual haunts; the pubs were all adamant they hadn't seen him. Suddenly Cowley's voice crackled through the radio.

"3.7, have you found him yet?" Wincing Bodie picked it up and answered,

"Not yet sir, he isn't at his local –"

"Have you tried his house?"

"On our way now," Bodie lied and punched the throttle.

Clarke's house was locked but Bodie made quick work of the door. The two men drew their guns and advanced steadily inside. There was no sound. They checked the rooms downstairs but to no avail. Clarke was not there. They branched off and started going through his stuff, looking for clues. Fiddling with a desk Bodie found something he wasn't expecting. He pulled open a drawer and gasped out loud. There were photos, scores of them, mostly poor grainy ones but some were higher quality, but they all had one thing in common. Every single photo included Ray Doyle.

One of them he recognised; him and Doyle leaving the bar, it was dated over a month ago, it was the least recent one, the last, three or so weeks back. So Clarke had been stalking Doyle. But why? Suddenly he heard Murphy shout to him.

"Bodie!" Throwing the pictures to the ground he raced up the stairs. Murphy was alone, staring out the window.

"What?" queried Bodie rather peevishly. Murphy pointed.

"Look," he said. Bodie squinted out the window, unable to see what he was supposed to be looking at.

"What?" Clarke's back window overlooked the Thames; the setting sun glinted off the water and almost blinded him. Then he saw it. "Oh…" In the water just a few meters from the back door floated a body. Clarke.

"Dead," confirmed Murphy, "Looks like an accident." He checked around the body again and sucked in a breath. "Nasty way to go…" Bodie was already halfway back to his car. He reached for the radio.

"This is 3.7, over."

"Bodie! Have you found Clarke yet?"

"Yes, but he's dead."

"Dead?"

"Hit his head and drowned apparently," Bodie was not expecting the weight behind Cowley's next words.

"Bodie, go get Doyle."

"What?" Bodie was surprised. "Why?"

"Just do it man! You're closer," Abruptly Bodie remembered what Cowley had said. _'It's for his own protection.' _Bodie swore and slammed his foot onto the accelerator. Doyle wasn't a suspect anymore. He was a target.

Cowley scanned the sheet with three names written on it. He had crossed out Ray Doyle, and then placed the late Harvey Clarke in the same category. The last name jumped out at him with the subtly of a knife. Peter Jones.

Doyle jumped as his cell door opened.

"Hello Doyle," Jones strode casually forwards, running a hand through his dark hair, he stopped a few meters away from the centre of the room. "How's the memory coming along?"

"Good," Doyle answered, "It's coming back." Jones's face didn't change. He backed to the door and then closed it deliberately. While his back was turned Doyle wondered closer to the table. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just coming to let you explain yourself," he frowned,

"How do you mean?"

"Why you sold out CI5. How much did they pay you Doyle? How much is it to gain the 'incorruptible' Doyle's tongue?" The way Jones said his name was the same as someone picking up something nasty with tongs.

"I didn't,"

"You sure?" Jones stepped in front of Doyle and glared at him. Looking into his eyes Doyle murmured,

"Yes,"

"How can you deny it when the evidence clearly states it was you?" Something in the gleam of his face caught Doyle's attention. Jones was too forceful, too sure.

"I remember. It wasn't me."

Jones's face did change now, but only by a millimetre.

"I had hoped the explosion would kill you but that's too much to ask isn't it?" He snarled. Doyle's eyes widened.

"The explosion? It was you…" Jones smirked at him.

"Well done, give the man a gold star. Not just a pretty face are we, Ray?" Without waiting for an answer he lashed out. Doyle wasn't quick enough to dodge the blow; it knocked him to the ground. Before he could leap up Jones was on him, pinning him to the floor, one hand squeezing his throat, the other clamped over his mouth. "Can't have you calling for help," he smiled nastily.

Doyle renewed his frantic struggles but he wasn't a match, he couldn't recall the karate moves he would've ordinarily put into action. But he wasn't helpless. With a sudden burst of strength he managed to hit Jones in the stomach with his knee, he doubled over and rolled off his target with a groan. Doyle scrambled to his feet but Jones was up a second behind him as he tried to make it to the door. He grabbed his shoulder and swung him round but Doyle punched him. They grappled together for a minute or two until – more luck than skill – Jones hit him on the back of the skull with his gun. Doyle crumpled. Chuckling quietly to himself Jones crouched over the fallen agent. He cocked the weapon and pointed at his head. "Night-night Doyle,"

The door burst open and Jones swung round, loosening off a shot. It was only Bodie's quick reflexes that save him but the sharp, almost excruciating pain in his arm made him drop his gun. Jones hefted the gun and paced to beside Bodie who was on his knees.

"Jones," Bodie growled through gritted teeth, trying to stem the blood flow.

"Nice isn't it?" Jones indicated the silencer. "Really handy." Bodie attempted to get up but Jones pushed him back down. "No, don't move." Bodie spotted Doyle's inert form.

"What did you do?" The traitor laughed softly at the apprehension in his voice.

"Oh don't worry Bodie, he's not dead, your stupid entrance saw to that." He stepped back as if admiring his handiwork. "The Bistro Kids, Double Trouble, Nitro and Glycerine," He spat. "Poetic justice really. The best agents brought down in their own base." Bodie glared at him.

"Were you on your own or did you have help?" Jones shot forwards and breathed in his ear.

"Clarke? No, he was just a fall guy, in case I needed one. Shifty, loner, who better? But he was a good little copper, told him I suspected Doyle and he decided to set up his own investigation. Found out too much for his own good; so…" He drew his free hand across his throat. Inside Bodie heaved a sigh of relief; there had been nothing malevolent about those photos. However he wasn't in the best of situations.

"How are you expecting to make this look plausible? Bullet wounds aren't exactly 'accidental death' you know," he demanded.

"It's all figured out Bodie; Doyle went crazy, attacked me and stole my gun. He shot you and I was forced to kill him to save myself. Easily enough for even your simplistic mind." He raised the gun and directed it at Bodie. "End of the line-"he began.

Suddenly he was knocked sideways. Doyle jumped on the traitor and wrestled with him for the gun. Bodie struggled to his feet, holding his Smith and Wesson, but he wasn't needed. Doyle had succeeded in purloining the weapon and now stood in front of Jones.

"Are you alright sunshine?" Doyle asked; not moving his gaze from his prisoner.

"Yeah," all of a sudden Bodie realised, "Wait a second!" Doyle grinned. "Welcome back."

"You still don't have any proof," Jones snarled. Doyle raised his eyebrows. He was clutching at straws and he knew it. Without a word Doyle backed up to the table and bent down. He drew out a tape recorder then set it on the table. He pressed stop.

"Take five people; that's a wrap."

Epilogue

"What I don't understand," Bodie said, "is how you got that tape." They were sitting around Doyle's table, chatting about the operation and their close shave. Bodie's arm was in a sling and he kept fidgeting with it.

"Cowley," Doyle replied. "Just after I was arrested he paid a visit. Gave me the tape," Bodie's jaw dropped.

"You mean you actually agreed to be the live bait?" Doyle shrugged.

"I didn't agree… he just didn't tell me!" Bodie glanced up at the clock.

"Why don't we head down to your local? It's not that far." Doyle suddenly tensed and Bodie grasped what he had just said.

"Na, you head down if you'd like, I'll stay here." The affected nonchalant tone was clear. Bodie lent forwards and asked;

"What happened?" Doyle was staring at his tea as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. When he finally did speak it seemed to come from a very long way away.

"They jumped me. I – I don't remember anything else except waking up in his cellar." He paused. "He kept asking me questions but he didn't seem interested in getting answers just… hurting for the fun of it. I couldn't sleep and I lost all sense of time… he just kept coming back with worse ideas. He… touched me as well. Threatened to go further…" He trailed off. Bodie's blood was boiling at Danny's sadism. He didn't realise how far it had gone.

Doyle gulped and then admitted shamefacedly; "I still catch myself thinking if I go to sleep I'll wake up back there."

"It's my fault," Bodie muttered, "I should've done something. Anything." Surprised Doyle stared at him.

"It wasn't your fault; did you know what he was planning? Could you have done anything to stop it? I don't think you could've. Stop blaming yourself!" Bodie gave a flickering smile and then phrased his next words carefully.

"It's like riding a horse Ray; you gotta get back on at some point." Doyle looked at him, and then determination flooded his face.

"Alright," he said.

As they left the house Bodie noted that Doyle was walking straighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. A weight had been lifted from his as well. Doyle didn't blame him. He still blamed himself but Doyle didn't. Wounds healed and scars faded but Danny had left a scar in Doyle's mind which might never fully disappear. But Doyle was back and Bodie was never going to let it happened again.


End file.
